


We Both Matter, Don't We?

by butterfingers69



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because of the Drunk(tm), Drunk Sex, Harry is a mess, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22877032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterfingers69/pseuds/butterfingers69
Summary: You know you like Kim, but you also know it is never going to happen. Even if it did, you know it wouldn't last. You ruin everyone who is unfortunate enough to care about you, and surely, he isn't any different.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	1. Oof

After a surprisingly clean and successful case you manage to convince Kim to have a drink (or two) with you. It is rare that you happen upon the right hints to a case right away, and it wasn't easy either. Your satisfaction largely comes from seeing the small, satisfied smile on Kim's face.

"I still can't believe you knew how to ride a skateboard," Kim shakes his head.

You smile, remembering the moment. "I don't think I knew either. It happened so fast, I don't think it was a choice; just instinct."

"You're full of surprises," Kim says, taking a sip of his amber beer.

You surprise yourself, really. You are a huge disappointment to all who have and ever will love you, but you can do a sick Ollie. You really are an exquisite specimen of human dichotomy.

"Kim, I think this was the perfect case."

He does that smile again. "You did a good job, detective."

Your heart flutters."*We* did a good job. I honestly think we should retire or switch careers. Nothing we do from now on could top this," you (mostly) say in jest

"It wasn't perfect," he muses.

"I doubt I could ever do anything that perfect again."

"Maybe if you focused less on delivering cakes for old women, cases would go more smoothly."

You hum as a weak agreement. It was the nice thing to do. You couldn’t let Mrs. Weatherby go out in the rain to do it herself. Besides you now see that side cases are thing, a joke, you and Kim have. That familiarity fills you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You tilt the almost done whisky to your lips; drinking more of the fire. Hell yes, that is the good stuff. You haven't had a drop in weeks. You feel alive again. Just, don't go overboard. Or do, it could be fun.

"We make a good team," you say, wistfully.

He takes another sip, "I agree."

You both share a look. You feel pride well up in you. Kim is surely in-human with his sharp mind and natural grace. You've never seen anyone so nice. You feel like a piece of shit sitting here, next to him. At least you make him look even better by proximity.

The night draws on and sometime later you both exit the bar to a cool summer night in Jamrock. The almost full moon shines off of the damp streets, giving the city an ethereal glow. You see various people about despite the time. Jamrock has an active night life. You feel the need to find a karaoke or disco. Kim would never agree to either. Well, he might, seeing how he walks beside you with a sway in his gate as you approach the polished, blue Kineema.

Wait, why are you going to the Kineema if both of you are figuratively swimming? You stop and grab his shoulder. He turns to you.

"You, you can't drive," you mutter.

He just stares. You see the moment he realizes the situation. "I didn't think about that."

You didn't either, honestly. How did you expect to get back to your place? Does it matter? You are having a great time. You've deprived yourself for too long.

Kim sighs, "My place isn't that far from here. Though walking back here tomorrow will not be fun."

"What about…?" you point to yourself.

He shrugs, "I have a couch."

He is inviting you to his place for the night. It’s a couch, which is better than a dumpster, and far cleaner. You don't have to leave him and that is the important thing. You don't want this night to end. This is a rare opportunity to hang with Kim off duty.

He leads the way in a nice, slow walk. You feel the need to run, but you did run for a majority of the day. Besides you get to watch Kim as his eyes gaze at passing buildings and people. He looks at Jamrock with admiration often reserved for a lover, even the worn buildings and strewn cigarette butts; all of it.

"Nice night," you say.

"Yes, it is," he agrees.

You walk and walk. Your perception of time isn’t great, but it feels like an hour by the time you approach a humble apartment complex. You’re out of the busy streets and the surrounding area is a quieter, residential area. You hear some punks nearby blast some offensive music far off and the occasional barking of a dog. There is a small gated yard with yellowing grass and the building looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since it was built. It still looks nicer than your place, but not by much. Kim leads you to the front door and takes out his keys. You notice all his movements are slower and more deliberate.

You enter an incense-scented hall and come to a door, number 104. He opens the door for you, and you enter. His apartment is as clean as you'd expect. You take off your shoes and look in his place. It's nice, if not a little sterile. It looks like something out of a modern design catalog, not a place someone really lives in. You eye sticks to the couple pieces of personality; a bookshelf lined with books, a small plant, and a cork board filled with clippings of carriages and cases.

"Take a seat wherever," he says, hanging up his coat.

You nod, approaching the corkboard for a closer look. Now that you look at it, other than the pictures of carriages it is mostly newspaper clippings of himself, or cases he was on. Some are about you, some are about “Eyes.” He keeps this in view of his favorite chair for when he is down. This reminds him how much this city needs him, how he has already made a difference. You take some more steps, looking further in the house. It’s small, but larger than your place. Or, maybe just less cluttered.

You soon take a seat on the grey couch, overlooking a worn wooden coffee table and the kitchen. There is a radio in the corner and a large curtained window. Kim enters the room, two cups of water in hand, he places a cup of water to you, resting it on a coaster. You note that the glasses match. You bet all his cups, spoons, and even plates are the same. He sits next to you, knees briefly touching. He didn’t sit on the nearby chair. He wants to be close to you. You watch his throat as he drinks. He sets the cup down and leans back, neck bent to rest on the back of the couch.

"You're a bit of a light weight," you say. You didn't intend it to sound so... insensitive. Seems you've forgotten how loose your tongue is while under the influence. It surely doesn't reduce the amount of nonsense that pours from your mouth.

"I rarely drink."

You take a sip of the water and lean back too, watching Kim's pretty face, eyes closed. His lashes are long and has a bit of stubble growing in. His lips look soft.

"We should sleep," he sighs.

You know, logically, that he is right… but that doesn’t mean that you have to go with it. Maybe you should just both sleep on the couch? Just like this; talking about dumb shit until you pass out.

"You can anytime Kim."

He turns to you, brows furrowed. "I'm taking the couch."

Oh, he is giving you his bed. That is hardly fair, I mean look at him. He deserves a bed.

"It's alright, this is your place, you take the bed."

He scowls at you, not moving. Honestly, he sometimes treats you like a mother, but you also know he treats pretty much everyone like that. Well, maybe you a bit more so (because you act like a child). He is a wealth of empathy; not a selfish bone in his body.

He raises a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose where two uniform spots of irritation from glasses resting there all day are. He relaxes, shoulders slumping. He tilts his head to face you. He is close too. You can see a faint flush to his face and watch as his eyes flicker to you neck and then back to you.

"You look incredible," you mumble, not realizing you were saying that out loud till now. Wow, good job there, buddy. You feel blood fill your face and the back of your neck sweat. Blame it on the alcohol.

He blinks, face blooming in peach. A little smile forms on his lips as he turns to the rest of the room. "What do you mean?"

Your heart thrums in your chest. "Well, I guess it's just that... you look very relaxed right now and, well... you're just very cool."

He turns back to you, biting his cheek. He is holding back laughter. In his current state he is much easier to read. He finds you charming... somehow. Or maybe he is just humoring you. You look to see if his eyes dilate when he gazes at you, but with such deep brown eyes you can't tell.

"I guess I'm kinda drunk," you mumble, attempting to cover up the embarrassing thoughts and words.

He leans in closer, "Me too."

You don't have time to think before he closes the rest of the distance and brushes his lips to yours before moving his lips to properly kiss you. Your mind stutters, intuitively your hands go to his sides and you kiss back at his soft lips. He moves closer and snakes his arms up to your back, one at the back of your head. It starts slow and builds until your both sitting up, gasping between kisses and feeling up each other.

He shifts to sit on your lap, warm thighs on yours. You feel lightheaded. Your hands feel his clothed, toned thighs up to untuck his shirt to brush his warm, smooth stomach. He gasps into the kiss as you run your hands up his bare torso. He pulls back, fixing his glasses and taking deep breaths. He peels off his shirt to show his slender chest, shirt tossed somewhere in the room.

He hands are on your collar and your mouths clash again. He takes off your tie and somehow manages all of your buttons. You move to kiss his jaw and neck as his hands feel through your chest hair. He sighs as you suck and mouth at his throat.

Oh, boy that's the stuff. Make him scream your name Harry. Your thoughts stop as he tilts his pelvis forward and grinds everything together. You groan. His eyes are full of desire, mirroring yours.

"Bedroom?" he breathes.

Fuck. He wants to take you to bed baby. Time to blow his mind. You nod, helping him up and not taking your hands or mouth off him as you stumble to the bedroom. You suck on his neck as he fiddles with the door, body arching into yours. Your hands move to rub his nipples and he gasps.

He manages to get the door open and pull you over the bed, on top of him. You really like that no-nonsense attitude of his, don't you Harry? You’d love him to push and pull around some more, wouldn’t you? Your already tight pants are starting to feel a lot tighter.

Your kneeling over him, overlooking his bare chest. You undo your belt and the front of your pants. Kim's stare doesn't waver. When your dick releases from its disco confides you sigh with relief.

Kim absentmindedly licks his lips. You aren't small, that you know. Either way Kim likes what he sees, nothing else really matters. He continues to look at you as he makes work of his own pants situation. You step off the bed for a moment to de-clothe fully and watch as Kim takes his cock out.

_Look, a dick!_ A part of you thinks you should be turned off; disgusted, but your reaction is quite the opposite. It is odd and turns you on more than anything ever will again. He is radiant.

You climb on top of him, helping him shimmy out of the rest of his clothes before pulling his legs apart to kneel between them. Your skin tingles where it meets his. By the way, now is a good time to think about how two men have sex, or more precisely that you have no idea what you're doing.

You don't dwell on the thought, leaning in to kiss him again. His hands explore your body, running down your stomach to lightly encircle the base of your cock. You groan, resting your forehead on his. He is quite warm, maybe running a fever.

"Lube?" you ask, relieved that you know at least this much.

He points to the side table and you awkwardly crawl over him (made even more awkward by your influenced state) to open the top drawer. You see a novel, some neat notebooks and a loose pen. Then you open the second drawer and see an opened box of condoms, a bottle of clear lube, and an oddly shaped butt plug. You'd pay good money to see Kim use that. Does he even use it on himself? Maybe it is for a sex friend or something. You grab the lube and crawl back, growing inpatient.

He eyes your hands, "Grab a condom."

You don't have time to question it, just do it. Pretend to know what is going on.

"What, why?"

"Because I'm too old to spend time cleaning your cum out of my ass."

The answer hits you. He wants you to put your dick in his butt. You knew anal was a thing but based on some long-forgotten knowledge you know that most women don't care for it. You scramble, like an idiot, to get a condom and return to your original position. You sit there, unsure of yourself but incredibly turned on.

Kim sees your trepidation, "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

"Not that I know of," you admit. "But I'm willing to learn!"

"You'll do fine, just... hand me the lube."

You hand it over to him. With swift ease he coats two fingers in the liquid before lowering them and fingering himself. You watch as he stills for a moment before adding more lube and scissoring his fingers. It makes wet noises, and you see how Kim arches with the touch. You want to do that to him; for him.

"Can I try?"

He removes his fingers, "Yeah, I should be good for three now."

"Three what?"

He chuckles lightly, "Fingers. You have to... stretch the muscle if you don't want blood everywhere."

Oh shit. Be careful Harry. Last thing you want is to rip open his ass. You only want to do that figuratively. You coat your fingers in lube and slowly ease them into him. You feel how warm and slick he is, he gasps as you slowly move your fingers around the space, rubbing the fleshy walls. You personally can't imagine this feeling good, but the way Kim's cock is leaking, and his hands are clasping sheets you know he likes this. You push to the knuckle; he feels so tight around you. You slowly pump in and out of him, fingers curling. Kim squirms.

"I should be good," he pants.

It takes you a moment to realize that he means he wants your dick now. You wipe your lubed hand on the sheets and open the condom, rolling it on. You take some lube and give yourself a couple strokes, watching Kim look at the motion in lust. You line yourself up and smile at him, trying to show how much he means to you in an expression alone. You can’t but you at least you’re trying. He nods, giving you the final consent as you slowly push past that tight ring of muscle.

You look down as he takes you, and gods is he tight. You look to his face, eyes shut, biting his lip as he gives a deep moan. You pant, feeling sweaty and so, so amazing.

You start slow, but not for long. It is hard to wait when he is so tight and good for you. He moves a hand to cover his mouth, but you grab his wrists, pinning them next to his hips. You want to hear everything. You're here to have him screaming your name.

"The walls a thin," he says between cut of moans.

"I want to hear you scream," you say.

In your state you think that sounds 100% cool, not at all creepy.

"Fuck, Harry."

You groan, him calling out to you is *everything*. He shifts his arms; struggling. He likes this, you overpowering him; showing him his place. He likes being used. His voice gets loose as you continue thrusting into him. Animalistic noises mostly, spattered with your name and swears. You feel yourself climb closer to that edge.

"Holy shit Kim. You're so good. So good for me," you mumble, mind turning fuzzy.

You babble compliments, words you don't even register as your world becomes numbing, overwhelming pleasure. Your entire body is lax, on fire. You're aligned with Kim, and the universe. You see the void.

In your haze you see yourself sitting on you heels before him. His hands, now free, furiously stroking his cock. You look at him in the dim light you watch him tense, face twisted in pleasure, then loosen, relaxing on the bed. All you hear is your breaths. You don't even notice when you start to fade, falling into a restful sleep.

You find yourself waking to an empty bed, naked, and covered in a blanket. You sit up too fast and your head spins. The night's events replay in your head. Oh yeah, and you remember it all baby. The sounds and feeling of his skin against yours. You notice there is no mess in the sheets, just a couple damp spots (no it isn't piss, just water). And as you slowly get up and see your clothes folded neatly on the side table, so you shimmy into them, turning the underwear inside out.

His bedroom is nice. Only really fitting the bed with matching sheets to pillow covers and a closet. You snoop to see a well-organized closet with a modest amount of clothes, most seemingly for work. Given how much you work, this is sadly practical. You don't let your job tell you how to dress. Stick it to the man! Maybe you can find something for Kim... What? You never buy clothes at this point. Either way you need to sneak hideous cups and disco-ass clothing in here someday.

By the way, now is a good time to consider what you both are now. Are you a thing? Was this causal? Do you want this to be a thing? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a relationship you have to keep secret? Kim surely doesn't want you. You're too old and too much of a train wreck. It was a fun thing you did while drunk, you can pretend to not remember.

You close the accordion door and make your way out of the bedroom and into a hall. The bathroom is next to you, so you head there to piss and then make your way back to the only other room in the place. You see Kim on a couch, writing on formal documents. It looks like he is starting to tackle his official report. He looks up at you when you enter, his face neutral. You might have ruined your entire friendship for one fuck. You aren’t sure if that is worth it. Probably is, it was pretty great.

"Good morning, detective," he greets.

"Morning."

Surely, you're past the point of just being "detective" now? Maybe, maybe he only thinks of this as a one-night stand. That would totally suck. Maybe you can convince him to try going out. Maybe he thinks you were both drunk (you were) and didn't mean it.

"About last night..." you start.

He waits for you to finish, but when you take too long his back straightens. He's concluded what it is you're hinting at. What you're too afraid to say. His is purposefully not showing disappointment. You don’t want to make this decision yet, but that isn’t an option. You have to dissuade where he thinks this is going or stay quiet.

"Sorry," you're aren't not sure why, but you often seem to be.

You hear the clicking of heels on pavement grow distant, your heart hollows. She's gone, forever.

"Don't apologize, neither of us were thinking fully last night."

He is acting like it meant nothing to him, but that isn't the full truth. You need to leave. Leave before you cry in front of him. You grab your shoes and coat, mind on autopilot.

"See you at the precinct," you say before leaving to a warm, morning breeze.

You don't look back; purposefully walking away. You will let this go, move on. Forget last night and him, or that part of him. Forget the sounds and flavors; all of it.


	2. Sad Detective Vibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayye! here is more angst bb!

It’s a nice, mostly sunny morning. You pass by people, wondering in a direction. You jog around the area for a while until you stop by a small park with an empty tennis court and a playground with several kids on it. You did well to not have a full meltdown in front of Kim, but the tears won't wait. You feel tears well in your eyes and your nose prickle. You silently cry, before steering your emotions back, wiping you face on your sleeve. You watch a woman play with her kids, laughing and climbing up the steel structure. You breathe, feeling the concrete beneath leather soles.

Okay, now that we aren't panicking about fucking everything good up in our life, again, we can think about important things. You have a report to do and should probably change into clean underwear. Life goes on, and do you really want to spiral again? You owe it to Kim to pretend you are okay. We can start with breakfast. You might not know where you are exactly, but surely you can find food.

You find a poutine place and grab some before asking every person you pass on how to get home. You end up on a packed bus and the roads become more and more recognizable. You get off and walk the rest of the way. By the time you enter your dark apartment most of the fires are already gone.

By the way you do work today. Most expect you to be late, as it does happen often, but now you should decide if you want to show up at all. The benefits? You get to see Kim. Downsides? You have to see Kim. You sit on your lumpy couch, looking at the startings of a report. Well, "startings" is generous, it's just a cover page with your name, date, and the case number on it. You could work, just do so here. I mean, do you really need to go out to write a boring report?

You lean back, wishing you had a bottle or cigarette. Do you want to be a failure? Watch all your colleague’s face’s as you show up a mess of a person, like the self-fulfilling prophecy you are? Do you want to watch that smug fucking smirk come on Jean's face when what he said all along becomes true? You sigh, resting your arms on your legs. The sooner this gets done, the sooner you get to take on a new case. Besides this report will be filled of examples of how good you are at your job. You get to boast, and have it be real this time.

You get to work on writing, often taking breaks to look at a wall; mind blank. For the hours you spend on it, you get an embarrassingly small amount done. You keep hitting walls and thus jumping around in time. It isn't linear or formal. Some pages are wrinkled, many have coffee stains. Some are laid on the floor, the coffee table unable to contain the tornado.

You feel hunger take over you. You look to the clock; it is almost 16:00. No wonder you're hungry. You have nothing good at your place, so you go out to a shitty place that does pizza. Even shitty pizza is good pizza. When you're satisfied you leave the establishment to look at the busy, after-work streets of Jamrock. The sun is still out, low in the sky. You walk and pass a bar, the neon sign calls to you.

Maybe just one drink, you've had a rough day. All that pain, that pit of despair in your chest? This will make it all go away. You deserve to have a good time after all. You find your body approaching the building and sitting at the far from clean bar. Many working-class people are about, letting a load off after a long day. There is a jukebox playing an old classic and a disco ball sends lights about the room. You feel like you've come here many times.

You get a whisky and coke; its sweet with a nice bitterness. Warm and comforting. You slowly slip into a buzzed state. The edges of your mind fade. You feel that sweet, sweet void.

You're in limbo Harry. You find yourself here a lot.

A new song swells. A low lady's voice speaking depressing lyrics. It's a slow vibe. How fitting. Lights whiz by and a hypnotic pattern and you spin with them.

Is this limbo? Muffled disco and glimmering lights going around and around?

You give a pained smile; your foggy thoughts are still of him. He felt like a dream, a memory of something forgotten. He is just... too good. Honestly it is pathetic that you're having a pity party for yourself over it. You created this hell for yourself. You weren’t drunk enough to not stop, to not make the right decision before that line was crossed. But no, you fell for it; for him. You just can’t resist temptation can you Harry-boy?

You have another drink, then another, and maybe another. You have a decency to stop before blacking out and actually pay your tab before stumbling out of the blue room on to the busy streets. The sun is gone now, leaving you with bright lamps dotting the streets.

Your world is spinning, and your feet carry you to your apartment. You cut through an alley, a spattering of vandalism covers the wall, it sends your spinning to a mellow stop.

_"Must we stop by this wall every time we pass here?" Kim sighs, you smile at the tone._

You wish he were here with you, as you often do. This might ruin everything, send you into another unstoppable spiral. Nah, you are a rockstar; a hurricane. There will be another partner, another friend. Well, no one is saying you won’t screw that up too.

The walk goes on for an indeterminate amount of time. The concept of time escapes you. Your drunkenness lessens by the time you get close. You stop up a bit when you see that blue carriage parked outside. He is there, leaning on its side. Has he been waiting for you all night?

He can't see you yet, he can't see as well as you. You can turn around and sleep in a trash bin, it wouldn't be the first time. You do not want to do this now. You don't look away, nor stop, heart noticeably pounding. His florescent jacket is striking against the drab blue-grey of your building. He soon notices you. You hear your shoes click on the pavement.

Why do this to yourself? Need to see what happens when you do, huh?

You slowly get closer and closer, soon your eyes look down; watching your feet. The pavement has brown weeds peeking from the seams. When you look up, he is several meters from you. There are no words. You see worry stretched across his features, and it grows when he notices that you have been drinking. You stop a meter from him. He is staring at you. A car passes.

"What?" you don't mean for it to come out that harsh.

He shallows air, "I was worried about you."

Your heart tightens. God, you are such a fuck. Well if he is here, then surely, he doesn’t hate you. Wordlessly you turn to your door and finick with your key. You hear him follow you but say nothing. He waits for your go-ahead to step inside and you gesture for him to follow.

You shut the door a little too loud, it rings in your ears. You go to slump in a chair and he sits too. You wish you kept alcohol in the house, your buzz is now a low, far too sober hum.

He is sitting straight, fiddling with his zipper. You look at the grey carpet. You are trying to get through this without (1) fucking it up further, and (2) being a pitiful mess. All the words that come to mind don't fit. He is waiting for you though, better say something, and make it smart.

"Sorry for being an ass," you mumble.

He frowns briefly. He hates it when you're sorry, and even more so when he doesn't think you did anything to be sorry for. You know this and said it anyways. You really don’t learn, do you?

He looks at the scattering of papers with interest, picking one of the sheets up to look closer at it. He says nothing but is pleasantly surprised that you actually did some work today. Or maybe he is shocked at how messy your report is. He places the paper down, focusing on you.

“Sorry, uhm I mean… I… apologize for not coming in today.”

"It is okay to take a day off if you need it," he says.

He means he'd rather you not work then find you passed out cold, covered in your own vomit. He doesn't want to deal with your baggage, it is for outside of work; outside of him. Part of you knows that isn’t true, that Kim would help you if you asked. Or at least do something. Oh, by the way maybe you should know why he is here. Like, does he not want to be your partner anymore? Better pile on the bad news in one day, it will hurt less that way.

"Kim... why are you here?"

He blinks, shoulders rising. He isn't great at this type of thing, whatever it is. He silently thinks, you can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

"I wanted to clarify some questions I had, but only if you want to detective."

Interesting. This is a turn of events, now you get to be interrogated! You're always the one asking questions and over-sharing about your own life, now you're on the other side. Is frightening and exciting. Do all your suspects feel this way?

"Okay," you say.

"Would you say you become more honest when drunk?"

You have to stop and think about that one Harry. You're go to is "yes," but you also know you love to pretend you're okay while drunk. Like you are right now.

"I don't know, I think I can be... It depends."

"Okay," Kim hums, and writes something in a notebook you now notice is in his hands.

"Did I murder someone?" you ask, using humor to hide your nerves.

He quirks a brow at you and you gesture to the book in his hand.

"Oh, no, it's alright... I guess it is just a habit."

He says that but doesn't stop. You find it enduring.

"Do you find me... physically attractive?" Kim hesitantly asks.

"Who doesn't?" you say with a shocking lack of hesitation.

Are you sure you should be doing this drunk?

He writes something down. He pauses and looks to you.

"Harry," your heart stops, "how do you feel about me?"

His expression is purposefully neutral. Your heart thrums. You hesitate. Being honest will just hurt you, if not now then later. You don't want to bring him down too, do you? You swallow on nothing, palms sweaty (mom's spaghetti).

"I--" this is your last chance to abort this. "I like you a lot Kim. You're smart and super cool. You always know what to say and how to say it so that it makes sense. You're the nicest and best cop I've ever met. This world needs more people like you in it... I'm not sure I'd even be here if it weren't for you. I’m not even talking about the time you literally pulled a bullet out of my leg."

You dare to look up, there is vulnerability to his face, like that night. His ears are red, purposefully keeping his mouth shut even if he finds all these compliments unreasonable to accept. You know he'd say that he just does the bare minimum, that he is just a decent person. But you know he is so much more.

"Thank you, but... I was wondering how you feel about me. Relationship-wise I guess."

"Look Kim, I know you hate it when I'm sorry, but I am sorry about last night. It wasn't okay, even if it was consensual at the time. I should have known better."

"Harry," Kim interrupts, voice raised. He sighs, "I just want to know why you did it and then ran off in the morning."

"I guess, I guess... I like you too much for my own good," you admit, feeling tears well in your eyes.

"Why did you turn me down the morning after then?"

You give a pitiful little shrug, not fully trusting your voice. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I want to make this work," he says.

You tense in confusion. "Work, or...?"

"Both."

"Both?"

He looks away briefly. "I take my job seriously, so personal things should still not interfere greatly, but outside of work... outside of work, I want you."

He says that now, but it will fade. It always does.

"You don't want me Kim, I'm just a fuck up; a shell of a man."

He stares at you, through your soul. He is worried about you. It kills him to see you like this. You are hurting him.

"Don't tell me what I do or do not want. You have your issues, but you are smart, and funny, and... I like that..."

Your eyes feel wet and you aren't sure why. You look down. Why does hearing such a thing hurt? You know deep down that you're unlovable, but this... there are no lies here. You pity him and thank the gods for him in the same breath.

"Sorry, I don't know why I am like this," you say between wiping tears.

He gets up to hug you. You clutch his shirt and relax. You cry freely. It seems to go on forever and after some time you actually feel a little better. Who knew how nice it feels to just cry? You need to cry more often. You also now notice the gentle hand rubbing your back; grounding you. You sniff, leaning back but not leaving his now loose embrace. He retracts his hands to take his glasses off and wipe his own tears from his eyes. Sympathy tears. He is upset at how empathetic he can be with others; how weak he thinks it makes him. You see the wet stains on his jacket.

"Sorry," you say, causing him to chuckle.

"Nothing to apologize for."

He wipes his glasses and returns them, looking at you. His eyes are slightly red, but not less beautiful. You want to kiss him.

"I guess I'm scared," you admit, looking to his ever-patient visage.

Of what Harry? What about *this* scares you? He literally saved your life and your trust in him is unparalleled. You are a mess or a human. You don't deserve him. Why do you ruin everything good in your life?

"I... I think I'm scared to be happy," you realize.

You can feel his heart break at those words, paired with a drive to fight those dark thoughts from you. He wants to shower you in the best life has to offer until you weep from joy. His grip tightens. The room is silent, some loud footsteps from above you go by before leaving you both to be here, together. You're breathing.

"Does this mean we're a thing now?" you ask.

"Only if you want to be," he says in earnest.

You hesitate again.

"Okay, just promise you'll peace the fuck out if I am too much of a sorry cop for you. You really could do so much better--"

He gives you a light kiss on the lips, halting your doubt. Everything about it feels right.

"You could just yes," he smiles at you.

"Yes, yes, it is then."

As you bring him in to kiss him again you think how, for the first time in a while, you feel like things might be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
